


Puppy Love

by Anonymous



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Pet Store, Anya (the 100) - Freeform, Dogs, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gina Martin - Freeform, Lexa (The 100) - Freeform, M/M, Past Bellamy Blake/Gina Martin - Freeform, Pining, Sex, Space-kru
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 01:55:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17889353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It is clear that Babbage and Barney are looking forward to their appointment atPaws on Main. Upon entering the shop, Bellamy finds himself better understanding their enthusiasm. He too would be excited by the prospect of being bathed, massaged, and pampered by the woman standing behind the counter. It’s such a sudden and unnatural thought that he stumbles over himself and forgets his manners.





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](https://johnmurphysreddit.tumblr.com/post/182969656005/).

Raven’s off saving the world—in some way or another. For months she’s been fretting over the details of her presentation, refusing to acknowledge just how nervous she is about it. For as long as Bellamy has known her, attending the yearly conference has been a highlight every year, but leading a seminar herself? It’s about high time she got that honour, what with her being a genius and all.

Usually Roan hangs back to care for the dogs the pair affectionally refer to as ‘ _the kids_ ’, but this time around he’s flying out to Europe with her. Moral support and all. It’s kind of disgusting and perfect, and Bellamy’s glad his best friend has finally found someone who puts her first.

(Roan’s been tight-lipped about it, but Bellamy’s 99.99% certain that the little trip Roan suggested the couple take after Raven’s conference is an elaborate ruse. There’ll be a big diamond ring on her hand when they return in two weeks. Bellamy’s willing—and has—bet on it. The people betting against him are his sister—out of spite—and her girlfriend, Niylah. The latter he presumes was coaxed into it somehow, but he has no intention on pulling on that thread.

The second time Bellamy found the polychrome strap-on in the dishwasher was the time they established boundaries in regard to Octavia’s latest relationship and Bellamy’s limited interest in the finer details about it. The time he walked in on them in the living room… Needless to say, he wishes to scrub his mind and unlearn about his sister’s interest in bondage.)

While Raven and Roan are away, ‘ _the kids_ ’ need to be cared for. The kids consist of Babbage and Barney—respectively, an Australian Shepherd and Siberian Husky. It’s a dizzying combination of breeds, but with a marathon runner for a ‘father’ the two dogs get all the exercise they need. (It helps, too, that Roan’s family oil money has afforded them the penthouse with its sizeable roof garden.) ‘The kids’ is an apt term given how much the couple invests in their dogs. This includes regular visits to the groomers across town, which is where Bellamy is headed to now with Babbage and Barney strapped into the back of his dated land rover.

(Octavia had jumped the gun and offered to take care of the kids, and for the most part she performed the duties admirably (no doubt to prove to Bellamy that his refusal for them to adopt a dog was—and continued to be—a grave mistake). However her class schedule meant that certain chores fell into Bellamy’s lap, like today’s grooming appointment or last week’s vet appointment for Barney’s check-up.

Raven’s insistence on turning part of their roof garden into a meadow meant the curious husky had inevitably been introduced to bees. Poor Bryan and Monty were later blamed for putting the idea into her head in the first place.)

It’s rare for him to come to this side of the city, mostly because it’s well out of the way. He wonders why Raven and Roan insist on this particular place when there are dozens—if not hundreds—of closer options. (He reckons he’ll forget to ask once they’ve returned.) In any case, the drive is pleasant what with the late spring air filtering through the open windows. In the side mirrors he can see Babbage and Barney are equally enjoying the ride.

(As he circles the block however, Bellamy realises that the drive back won’t be so pleasant. Rush hour and all. He’s already considering alternative routes when he spots the school across from the shop. Suddenly, his plan to run some errands foils. If he doesn’t secure a spot now for later, he’ll never find a park once school is out.)

Barney’s enthusiasm last week could be described as non-existent when they reached the surgery, but today she’s vibrating excitedly as soon as they round the street corner. Bellamy has to exert greater force than expected to contain her when reaching around her to unfasten the restraints. Babbage, though a little less excitable, is quick to put his nose to the ground and wag his tail. It is clear that the kids are looking forward to their appointment at _Paws on Main_.

Upon entering the shop, Bellamy finds himself better understanding their enthusiasm. He too would be excited by the prospect of being bathed, massaged, and pampered by the woman standing behind the counter. It’s such a sudden and unnatural thought that he stumbles over himself and forgets his manners.

“Babbage and Barney. Reyes,” he stammers, dogs pulling him in two different directions as he nears the counter.

“Yes, I know,” she replies coolly, a ghost of a smile on her lips.

(Is it bad that he’s staring at them?)

Licking his lips, Bellamy snaps out of his reverie when the Barney zips past between his legs and the countertop, threatening to top him over. He releases the leashes (as he’s told to) and takes a while to register the sight before him.

The woman is crouched at the end of the counter, steadfast against the onslaught of head-butting and licking. Barney’s the loudest, whining and barking and lowering herself on her front paws, ready for play. Bellamy’s about to step in, embarrassment flushing his cheeks, when the woman snaps her fingers and, in some deeply unsettling Pavlovian response, both he and the dogs go stock still.

“Good girl,” she coos, picking up the leashes and pushing herself to her full height.

Bellamy notices the streaked converse on her feet, realising she’s tall by default. His gaze trails her long, legging-clad legs, skipping diligently past her hips and chest before landing on her face. There, he spots an expression he can’t make sense of. Misreading it as amusement at his expense, Bellamy ducks, smile sheepish and ears pink.

“It’ll take about four hours,” she tells him, rounding the counter with both dogs in tow. “I can give you a call if you leave your number.”

Four hours. Bellamy glances down at his watch and reconsiders his errands. It’s not like he won’t have time to spare. If he returns before school is out, then he might secure a park once more, though he’s not been in this neighbourhood enough times to predict what the future holds.

“Sure,” he acquiesces, then rattles off his number.

He watches her hand, gaze steadily creeping up her arm. Toned, tanned arms. Rather than let his mind wander, Bellamy reasons that manhandling dogs like Babbage and Barney must require significant strength. Suddenly, he’s curious, and speaks before filtering his thoughts: “Do you specialise in big boys?”

Her bemused expression is making him wish the ground would open beneath his feet. To her credit, the woman offers him a small—if long-suffering—smile and replies, visibly amused.

“I love big boys,”—when Barney whines and slams her front paws on the countertop, the woman’s attention shifts, voice softening—“And big girls, yes. Yes, I do.”

Bellamy watches her shift in demeanour and is surprisingly fond. Usually he rolls his eyes at people who coo at dogs—most notably at Roan. Clearing his throat, he stamps out any misguided illusion that she’s flirting with him and drums his fingers on the edge of the counter.

“Four hours,” he hums, thoughtful. “And at what time is school out?”

It’s unclear whether he’s trying to drag this out (which would be at his own detriment, he reminds himself), but if he is, her perceptiveness obstructs the non-plan.

“Around the same time. I’ll give you a call when they’re about ready and you can swing round back if necessary,” she tells him, shooting Barney a _look_ that stills her instantly. (Bellamy feels his nape go warm at the thought of what that look will incite down the line, when he’s alone.)

“Right, and, uh, good coffee?”

There’s a chance he’ll be back in the neighbourhood sooner than is strictly necessary. He won’t have time to go all the way home and back, and he doubts it’ll take him that long to get errands checked off his list. Especially when seeing her again is what he’s got to look forward to.

“Thick As. One block that way,”—she cocks her head—“Tell them Echo sent you and you’ll be well looked after.”

 _Thick as?_ As thieves? Bellamy wonders, though he doesn’t dwell on the thought, not when he has a lingering question that, much like everything in her presence, stumbles off his tongue.

“Echo? That’s you. Your name?”

God, please strike him down, he thinks. Does he sound as stupid to her as he’s sounding to himself? Bellamy sure as hell hopes not. At her nod, he smiles. It’s only a name, but in the last few minutes he’s determined to catalogue anything he can.

“Thanks, Echo. I’ll see you later, then,” he says, turning on his heel. If he doesn’t leave now, then he’ll keep talking and will likely fling himself into traffic later. If he’s being honest, he’s got half the urge to already.

Bellamy hazards a glance through the front window as the door closes behind him and witnesses Echo’s composure falter. He keeps walking, all but tearing his attention away from the happy display to the sidewalk before him. Setting his mind to it, he seeks out _Thick As_.

**~*~**

‘Thick As’ is, for a lack of a better word, eclectic. There’s no genre or style he can immediately categorise it as. He does however feel right at leisure when he steps up to the counter. There’s something about the grain of the wooden countertop that draws his fingers across the surface. It’s been handcrafted. A glance to the wall behind the register makes him realise that it’s not so much eclectic as it is eccentric.

“What can I get you?”

The guy behind the counter is dressed in stonewashed layers, an apron thrown over his shoulder. Something about the way he holds himself and addresses Bellamy makes Bellamy think he’s not just an employee.

“Echo sent me,” he blurts out.

The guy gives him a once over, expression long-suffering and curious. He looks like he’s got a comment to make but given the silence that stretches uncomfortably between them—short, but present never the less, a _pregnant pause_ as some would call it—the guy won’t be sharing his thoughts.

Bellamy clears his throat and offers a placating smile, “I was told to say that, anyway, I, uh, can I get a soy flat white to go? Please?”

His smile widens in an attempt to mollify the other. There’s something in the guy’s expression that he can’t quite place, and Bellamy starts to wonder whether this is Echo’s boyfriend. The moment isn’t long enough to be conclusive, and he shakes the thought away. Either way, it doesn’t matter.

The guy behind the counter tosses his apron onto the counter between them and moves towards the coffee machine. Bellamy hazards a glance about and notes that the few customers are all served and casually caught up in laptops, books, and conversations. It’s nothing like the coffee shops he usually goes to, even those expensive hipster ones he suffers three extra blocks to get to in order to avoid the bulk of college students.

The smell of roasted beans and vanilla extract fill his lungs. There’s music playing in the background, quiet and only noticeable over the sound of the coffee machine and chatter if he focuses his attention on it. It’s not anything he’s heard before, but it’s not anything he’d switch away from either. Suddenly, regardless of the proximity to _Paws on Main_ , Bellamy feels like this would be a good place to work on his book. There are leather armchairs by the back—which he now notices opens onto a little courtyard—and oversized coffee tables.

“You guys always this busy?”

The moment he says it, Bellamy realises the implication. It’s not meant sarcastically but given the number of empty tables he realises that’s how it sounds. The look he gets borders on acidic, but the guy’s tone is impassive as he replies.

“Mornings and weekends are busiest,”—he pauses as he taps wipes down the machine—“After school rush too, sometimes. Mostly Fridays. Live music on Tuesdays. Closed on Wednesdays.”

Bellamy can’t tell if the guy is simply telling him or listing it all off to put him in his place, but he’s grateful for the specificity. Wednesday is an odd choice for closure, but he keeps his thoughts to himself, worried he’ll get the coffee thrown at him rather than handed to him should he comment again.

The coffee is, thankfully, handed to him. Or rather, set on the countertop in his general direction. To his surprise, the guy hovers. Self-conscious, Bellamy brings the cup to his mouth and takes a cautious sip. It’s the perfect temperature for drinking. (He hates having to wait ten minutes for coffee to be palatable.) It’s smooth too, rich and tinged with just enough bitterness.

“How much do I owe you?” he asks, setting the cup down after a second sip. He reaches for his wallet and is glad the guy doesn’t tell him it’s on the house on account of Echo’s name. (He’s also disappointed, because if it were, he could have used it as a bargaining chip to buy her dinner sometime.)

**~*~**

Bellamy goes about his errands, quicker on his toes what with the caffeine coursing through him. He’s actually back at the coffee shop three hours later when Echo calls. The dogs will be ready in half-an-hour or so she informs him, but he’s secured a parking spot further down the road already and tells her to take her time. Pocketing his phone, he returns to his conversation.

Turns out the guy who served him earlier is indeed not an employee, but the owner, John Murphy. “I’m warning you upfront, we have a policy of not serving people more than five shots in a day, and you’re down to three,” is how John greets him, after initially rolling his eyes as if Bellamy’s return was the last thing needed that day.

The two of them are conversing easily when John pointedly glances down at the register, “Shouldn’t you be heading back? It’s been thirty minutes.”

Bellamy is surprised by how quickly time’s flown by, but he spares the other the platitude, and instead tips back the ceramic mug, polishing off the latte.

(By the time he had finished his second flat white, he was down to one allotted shot, which meant switching to a latte. It’s not bad. He reckons John’s stingy with the foam because he’s aware of Bellamy’s preference for flat whites. It’s a theory confirmed midway through their conversation when John serves up a couple of suburban moms two foamy lattes.)

**~*~**

Bellamy’s halfway through the threshold when he realises that he should have brought Echo something from _Thick As_. John has a girlfriend—Emori, a sculptor credited with much of the of woodwork in the coffee shop—but has, in no certain terms, revealed a long-standing friendship with Echo. If anyone would know what to get her, it’d be him, surely.

 _Maybe next time_ , he thinks to himself. He realises then that there won’t be a next time. As breezy as his afternoon has been, this is Raven’s routine, not his. He decides then and there to tag along the next time. From what he’s come to understand about dog grooming in the past few weeks is that it should happen every 4-6 weeks. A month is a while away, but perhaps he’ll luck out at _Thick As_. (It _is_ from thick as thieves, and it’s intentionally shortened to be an _almost_ double-entendre. Bellamy wonders whether John and Raven have ever met; he gathers they’d be quick friends if they do.)

“Bellamy?”

Reality crashes down on him.

He blinks, suddenly very disoriented.

“Yes, sorry, I’m—” He doesn’t finish the sentence, not certain how to. Instead he keeps his widened gaze on her, drinking in the dishevelled braids and arched brow.

“As I was saying,”—she folds her arms and leans back against the filing cabinet behind her— “I’ve scheduled the next appointment for June 24th. I’ll send a confirmation text, so don’t worry about telling them,”—she hesitates—“Have you heard from either of them?”

It shouldn’t surprise him that she asks. In fact, the way she’s interacted with Babbage and Barney—and their reaction to her—suggests a long-standing relationship. If Raven and/or Roan have been coming here on a monthly basis for the better part of three years, then it makes sense Echo is at least partially invested.

“Uh, no. I haven’t. They get back on Sunday though,” he says, scrubbing at his face.

Despite the five shots of caffeine from _Thick As_ (and the two he had at breakfast), the day is beginning to catch up with him. Already he knows that despite the lull in energy now, he’ll struggle to sleep. The drive back across the city doesn’t appeal to him, at all.

“Yeah,” she replies, thoughtful. There’s an uncertainty to her as she rubs her hands over the top of her thighs. (Bellamy’s not at fault for staring at them.) Babbage and Barney are off their leashes, wandering about the store. Babbage takes the motion as an invitation, sticking his head against her lap. The dogs’ different personalities amuse Bellamy, and the past week has only made him grow fonder of the two animals. Perhaps he should agree to Octavia’s decade-long plea and get a dog himself. It’d give him a reason to come back...

(When he commented on how good the kids looked, he was tempted to ask whether she handled humans too. He’s glad he didn’t and has the caffeine’s thank for that.)

“Yeah,” he mirrors, unsure himself.

It occurs to him, as they both stand awkwardly with the scrape of Barney’s claws against the linoleum, that he should go. Raven’s paid in advance or has some sort of agreement in place that absolves him from forking out the hundreds it costs. (He’s reminded why he _doesn’t_ want any dogs.)

“I’m glad Barney’s doing better though,” Echo says, pushing off the filing cabinet. There’s a decidedness to her movement that makes Bellamy realise he’s overstayed his welcome. “They were worried about leaving her behind.”

“They fuss too much about these two,” he replies, perhaps a bit too quickly. Yet, she doesn’t seem taken aback or offended by his statement. Her smile softens, expression fond.

(It’ll only be later, during the drive home, that it’ll occur to him that Echo must have a far closer relationship with them that he anticipated. If she only sees the dogs every 4-6 weeks, how else would she know about the bee sting?

His rumination is inconclusive as he realises that Raven might have, when calling to inform about Bellamy bringing the dogs in instead, told Echo about it. Then again, why should _she_ be expecting to hear anything back from them? Is she privy to Raven’s reasons for travel, or of Roan’s possible proposal plan?

The answer will have to wait, because Raven doesn’t reply to his message.)

Bellamy gazes at her and catches himself when she clears her throat. Heat rises across his cheeks, reaching the tip of his ears. It’s a good thing the sun is afternoon sun is shining in from behind him.

“Right. Okay. Come on, kids,” he addresses the dogs, reaching for their collars and clicking his tongue. They’re a lot more relaxed now than they were, and the leashes are easy enough to put on.

He and Echo exchange polite smiles. (He doesn’t read into it, but it’s more than polite. His sure is.) Then, he’s out the door with a quick _goodbye_ and half-jogs towards the land rover, eager to shake off the ants beneath his skin. (It’s only later that night when he’s lying wide awake in bed, that the buzz of electricity is dampened by the thought of her lips and the quick, short strokes of his hand.)

 


	2. The Middle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Up ahead, impossible characters and a poor grasp of mythology.

It’s Sunday night, and in typical Blake fashion, that means a home-cooked meal and movie. Except, they’ve moved the party up six floors to Raven and Roan’s apartment, so they can keep Babbage and Barney company. The last—and only—thing Bellamy’s heard from their owners is that one flight got cancelled so they’ll be home five hours later than expected.

( **Please feed the kids!** – Raven’s SMS reads. He has no idea where she’s sent it from, nor can he read into it. He _really_ wants to know if he’s about to lose $20 to his sister.)

Bellamy feeds _the kids_. He also feeds himself and his sister, and his sister’s girlfriend who lately spends nearly as much time in their apartment as he does. He’s gone from noticing her presence, to not minding it, to looking forward to it. The age difference between Niylah and his sister made him err at first, but it’s nice to have someone halfway who can bridge the differences Bellamy and Octavia have due to _their_ age gap.

(And, after Atom, Jasper, Lincoln, Illian... Bellamy is glad she’s settled in a healthy relationship. Octavia’s happy and Niylah treats her well, which are the two things that interest him about their relationship.)

Octavia’s sprawled on the rug with Barney tucked into her side and her head on Niylah’s lap. Niylah sat on the ground, back propped against the front of the couch. Moving their Sunday meal to Raven’s means that Roan’s passion for sport offers an added hundred channels to their usual selection... for them to surf through, apparently.

Bellamy lets out a heavy sigh, resting his hands on the edge of the mixing bowl.  
(Babbage’s ears perk up from where he’s laying long-suffering at Bellamy’s feet.)

“You mind settling on one thing, Niylah?”

The blonde hums noncommittally, indulging him for about ten minutes before continuing her listless hunt for a movie or show. By then he’s too busy pressing the ground beef into meatballs to care.

An hour later, when they settle around Roan’s expensive glass dining table to tuck into Bellamy’s arrabbiata, the television’s turned off in favour of light conversation. It’s the end of the semester and Octavia needs to vent her frustrations. Bellamy, for the most part, keeps his to himself, unwilling to think about grading papers and writing up the final exams until Monday morning at the very least. Instead, he watches Niylah’s hand steadily drawing circles between Octavia’s shoulder-blades. He witnesses Octavia refill their glasses without prompting, noticing that the girls are sharing their glass of wine. He’s fond of them and feels something swell in his chest at the sight of someone loving his sister as much as he does—almost. (No one will ever love her more than he does, that’s his indisputable right as her older brother. Even if sometimes he wants to shove her head into the toilet.)

Bellamy also feels something constrict between his ribs, as if his heart closes in on itself in the absence of somebody to love. He casts a thought to Gina, and to the girls before her that he… kind of loved.

(He didn’t experience that all-compassing kind of love until he met Gina. He also didn’t experience soul-wrenching heartbreak until she left him. The day she told him about her intention of moving abroad was one of the bleakest days of his life. He still holds some illogical grudge against the date, often marking November 9th with a few too many beers or staying after hours in his office on campus.

Over the last two years he’s stopped poking at that wound though. He’s removed her from his friend-list, choosing to move on rather than watch her build a new life for herself in Florence alongside a boyfriend who, according to Raven, looks a lot like him. Time makes it easier to get over it. Anyway, it wasn’t the life he wanted for himself.)

Bellamy pulls himself out of his reverie and takes a long swig of his wine. If he gets caught staring at the two women fondly, it’s because he’s thankful to have them in his life. Niylah’s a recent addition, but a welcome one at that. A glance around the apartment, a thought cast to the many parties Raven and Roan have hosted here with all of their friends, and Bellamy realises he’s got plenty of people to love.

And the real kicker? They love him back.

**~*~**

Octavia pays up on Thursday. As she collapses onto the creaky leather couch in his office, he remarks on her tardiness. He doesn’t push it, casting a thought to Sunday when the shrieking and alcohol followed the reveal of a very large, very shiny diamond ring. Monday had been miserable; the group chat a mess of puke emojis and complaints.

Instead of allowing his sister to wallow, or exiling her to the library, he drops the $20 bill onto her stomach and tasks her with getting them a pizza and soda. Lots of soda.

(John Murphy has kind of ruined coffee for him, so Bellamy’s become reliant on other caffeine sources. It’s part of the reason he decides to cancel his Friday office hours and drive across the city to do work at _Thick As_. Anyway, after a week of staring at the same four walls, he needs a change of scenery.

And yeah, maybe he parks by _Paws on Main_ in hopes of catching a glance at Echo. Only, he finds out that she’s closed on Fridays. Bellamy unhappily notes that, between her Friday and John’s Wednesdays closure, narrows down his window of opportunity to two days a week--Thursdays and Saturdays.)

**~*~**

“Just call her,” Raven groans, sparing him a look over the potted gardenias. It is two weeks later—exactly Friday, and despite spending a collective twenty-four hours (10hrs on Thursday, 8 hrs on Saturday, then 8 hrs again yesterday) at Thick As, Bellamy’s not managed to catch a glimpse of Echo at all.

Emori—he’s inevitably met given his budding friendship with John—looks at him the same way Roan does. He hasn’t put his finger on why it raises his hackles, but he assumes that shared quiet smugness might be the reason.

“That’s just awkward, Raven. I have her number because she called me to tell me the kids were ready. What do I say: _Yeah hi this is Bellamy, remember me? I saved your number to my phone because I wanted to ask you out. Do you want to come on a date with m—_.”

“—YES!” Raven all but shouts at him. If he thought she sounded exasperated before, well… “That’s exactly what you say, Bellamy. You know how to do this. Why are you being such a loser about it?”

Okay, that stings.

Instead of answering, he pays very close attention to the watering instructions on a fiddle leaf fig. (He’s seen this all over Octavia’s Pinterest.) The delay proves strategic as Monty appears seconds later.

“Please don’t shout in my store, Raven,” he pleads, casting a glance at Bellamy. “You’ll scare my clients and wither my plants.”

“Fine, then you tell him to suck it up and ask the girl out already,” she huffs, stalking down the aisle in search of her second-favourite owner of Matthews & Green, Bryan Matthew.

Monty watches her go, waiting until she’s out of hearing range to glance at Bellamy.

“This about the groomer girl?”

At the lack of reply, Monty leans back against the sturdy wooden frame and smiles, “Harper told me. There’s a betting pool already, courtesy of your sister no doubt.”

“Remind me not to take her to the races,” Bellamy replies, visibly resigned.

“Well, I’m no help. Harper did all the work, so,”—Monty reaches out to give his shoulder a squeeze—“Whatever advice she gave you, I can attest it’s reliable.”

Bellamy chuckles at that, giving Monty’s forearm a squeeze. He doesn’t want to talk about this anymore, so he motions towards the fiddle leaf figs and changes the topic.

The new plant in the kitchen cheers Octavia up, which they both need what with finals coming up. Exams have always brought out the worst in her, and by extension, in their relationship. Having Niylah this time around helps though, _a lot_.

Over the weekend, Bellamy picks up and puts down his phone so many times he considers skipping arm day come Sunday morning. (He doesn’t skip though, because every time he trains with Nathan he’s pushed harder than he believes he deserves.)

**~*~**

Week one of finals is, for the most part, uneventful.

Week two, not so much.

**~*~**

It’s Saturday night and Octavia’s out with friends celebrating the end of the semester. She’s promised Raven to swing by the engagement party at some point, and Bellamy’s out in the hall texting her a reminder when he hears his name called out.

With a distracted ‘huh’ he looks up, not expecting Echo to be standing there in a black satin dress. He almost doesn’t recognise her, though truth be told she’s featured so heavily in his spank bank that he’d find it hard to forget her. He really wishes he’d called her ~~sooner~~ at all.

~~~~

~~~~

“What you doing here?”

It’s meant to be flirtatious, but his shock makes it sound a little less coolheaded than he’d hope. Echo smiles at him, approaching. (Bellamy reminds himself its nearing summer solstice and chalks up the sudden heat to freak weather.)

“Roan’s my brother,” she reveals, glancing down the length of his body.

(It definitely isn’t the weather.)

 _Step-brother_ , she clarifies, but Bellamy’s too stunned for it to register, his ears still ringing from the first bomb she’s dropped. Instead of acknowledging her, he furrows his brow at her.

“But I’ve never met you.”

Echo’s mouth opens and closes, and Bellamy flushes at how accusatory he’s made it sound.

“I mean,” he rectifies, pocketing his phone. “I feel like we should have met sooner, right?”

“We have,” she tells him.

Bellamy feels the urge to steady himself against the wall as the second bomb drops, the floor beneath him shaking. Instead, he sticks both hands into his slacks’ front pockets.

“We have?”

Before Echo can reply, two familiar and equally unexpected people step out of the lift. It’s Bellamy’s turn to gape like a goldfish, uncertain.

“Bellamy, s’up man?”

“I didn’t realise you knew…”

“Raven and I were roommates back at Stanford,” Emori chimes in, reaching to stroke Echo’s back. Bellamy watches the three of them and feels as if he’s been tossed into an alternate dimension.

“W-wait, what? How have I sleeping on this? You’re his sister and you’re her roommate and y—”

John throws his hands up innocently, stepping past them before pushing open the apartment’s front door, “I just make coffee.”

“So how do you two know each other?”

Trying to piece together this puzzle is harder than deciphering his students’ handwriting. (Which he still has pages of to go through, Monday no doubt, because tomorrow he’ll be hungover.)

“Raven and Roan, after they met,” Echo starts, struggling to repress her smile.

“Tried to set us up,” Emori finishes.

Bellamy is trying here, okay? He really is, but somewhere at the back of his brain he’s wondering whether he’s one of Lewis Carroll’s characters, tumbling into an alternate dimension. He’s also trying really hard to figure out how to interpret _that_ , unwilling to speak because he’s pretty sure he’s going to sound disappointed. He knows Emori’s with John, but Echo...

“It went almost as well as this conversation is going,” Echo adds, motioning for the front door. “Shall we?”

**~*~**

“What are you doing?”

Raven’s got him by the elbow and is steering him away from the coconut-breaded shrimp. Bellamy follows dumbly, tearing his eyes away from where Echo and Bryan are chatting excitedly about… well, by the look on Nathan’s face, _plants_.

“Hm?” he asks distractedly, only snapping to attention when the intensity of the light changes. It’s then that he realises they’ve migrated to the guest bathroom.

Raven moves towards the counter, leaning back against it and crossing her arms over her chest.

“You’ve been pining for over a month and you’ve been gawking at her all night,” she admonishes.

Nathan pops his head in, “What’s happening?”

He must have noticed Bellamy’s inelegant exit, then.

“Come in, shut the door. I’m staging an intervention,” Raven barks at him, returning her attention to Bellamy. Her tone doesn’t seem to deter Nathan. On the contrary, it pains Bellamy to see he lights up at the idea of it. Before Nathan can close the door however, another familiar face appears around the door. Oh, god, this really _is_ an intervention.

“What’s happening?” Harper asks, flashing Nathan a smile as he holds the door open for her and tells her. Without ceremony, the blonde sets her orange juice down on the counter next to Raven and plops herself onto the toilet seat.

(Pregnancy is only somewhat becoming, Bellamy thinks to himself, spitefully.)

“What the _hell_ , Bell?” Raven snaps, oblivious to the audience.

“Is this about Echo?” Harper asks.

“Echo? As in _the girl Bryan’s going to leave me for_ Echo?”

“Bryan’s too besotted to ever leave you, Nate,” Harper says, just as Raven says, “Yes.”

There’s a moment of silence, and Bellamy sags under the weight of their stares. He sits on the edge of the bathtub, rubbing at the back of his head.

Something shifts then, the tension in the air vanishing. Raven sighs, and Nathan takes the lead. He settles on the bathtub’s edge next to Bellamy, rubbing circles between his shoulder blades. (If Bellamy hadn’t been straight, then there’s little doubt there could have been something between them. For the better half of their first year as roommates, Nathan’s subtlety left a lot to be desired.)

“Is this about Gina?”

Harper and Raven share a look.

There’s a knock on the door—causing everyone to collectively hold their breath.

“Only Monty,” Harper says, beckoning him inside.

“ _Only Monty_ ,”—he parrots, closing the door behind him—“I come to check up on you and this is how you treat me. What’s happening?”

“An intervention,” Bellamy says, deadpan.

They’re all quiet for a moment.

“I just”—he finally starts, taking a deep breath. He’s about to continue when there’s another knock on the door and Roan pops his head in. Bellamy deflates.

“Are we moving the party in here?”—he asks, glancing at the five of them down his aquiline nose—“Your mother’s here, Raven?”

The statement hangs in the air, everyone tense.

Raven’s exasperated “ _Fuck_ ” breaks the silence.

Roan—the bastard—leaves the door open as he escorts his fiancée back to the party. Harper and Monty share a look, then he reaches for her orange juice with one and helps her up with the other. The two of them follow suit. Nathan also rises, but he extends his hand towards Bellamy.

“Come on, I’ve got an idea,” he tells him. For some reason, it’s easier to believe him than the others. Nathan’s been in Bellamy’s life since freshman year in college, nearly a decade. As opposed to Raven, he’s not fucked around. There’s never been anything left unsaid between them, which is why he grasps Nathan’s forearm and hoists himself up.

Nathan’s idea is simple, and Bellamy needs simplicity in his life tonight. The two of them leave the bathroom and find Bryan with Echo, still animatedly talking. The plan is clear, and he could cry in gratitude.

“Echo, I’m invoking partner rights and stealing my boyfriend away from you,” Nathan says. “In exchange, I leave you with Bellamy, who I think you’ve met, yeah?”

Bryan arches his brow, glancing between Bellamy and Echo. (Harper must have been talking down at the store.) His smile is kind and unassuming. When is Bryan ever _not_ kind and unassuming? He steps away from Echo and links his arm around Nathan’s, “He’s the jealous type.”

“I don’t worry about women, but you’re not just any woman,” Nathan adds, squinting at her in mock-suspicion.

“That she is not, she’s a—”

Just as Bryan says “Goddess”, Bellamy says “Nymph”.

If things were going smoothly, they now screech to a stop. Bellamy can’t let this end in a train-wreck though, so he leans on what he knows. He clears his throat, finding confidence in using his—as Octavia calls it— _professor voice_.

“Echo… from Echo and Narcissus in Metamorphoses. She’s an Oread, a mountain nymph. Though in Longus’ Daphnis and Chloe she’s a mortal, raised amongst the nymph and schooled by the muses. Pan’s envious and cau,”—he feels a hand on his shoulder and glances down to find his sister.

“I think you’ve told that story enough, don’t you think?”

Bellamy’s surprised by Octavia’s appearance, though grateful too. He was just about to tell his crush that her namesake was shredded apart by men driven wild under Pan’s spell. It’d be a little anticlimactic to end his monologue with: _it’s a sad story, either way._

“I sometimes think we should get him a gag,” Nathan comments, light-heartedly.

“Oh, he’d _hate_ that,” Octavia replies, taunting. Whatever threat or joke (at his expense, of course) hangs in the air quickly dissipates when she reaches across Bellamy, offering her hand. “I’m guessing your Echo?”

“He uses that one a lot?” Echo retorts, taking Octavia’s hand and giving it a firm shake. (The ground can just swallow him now, please and thank you.)

“Bit of a nerd, my brother. Not his best story choice though,”—she flashes him a wicked smile despite the clicking of her tongue, then returns her attention to Echo, smile (thankfully) softening—“I’m Octavia.”

Somehow, and Bellamy’s not too sure how, the crowd disperses. He might have Niylah to thank for that, but he’s too busy breathing the freshly cleared air to pay the _how_ and _who_ any mind.

“Sorry, I uh, you probably know it, anyway, the stories, I mean, it’s your name.”

“How about you get us a drink and I’ll wait for you out there?” Echo suggests, holding out her empty flute for him to take. It’s a little wounding to his ego (and reminds him a bit of Roan’s casual swagger), but he has to admit that he needs a moment to compose himself.

Bellamy takes her glass with a consenting nod, then turns on his heel. He makes sure Octavia can _feel_ the daggers he’s glaring at her as he walks by, and pointedly ignores Raven at the bar (who is apparently not busy enough trying to keep her mother dry to shoot him a _look_.)

The double shot of single malt he throws back is for him—and the bartender—to know.

**~*~**

“I didn’t get a change to tell you when you got here that you look beautiful,” he says.

Echo glances away from the city skyline and over her shoulder at him. He misses the flush spreading across her neck, his gaze slowly inching up the expanse of her exposed back.

(Bellamy imagines it would be rather nice to press up along it and nip at her bare shoulder. The curve of her neck looks equally appetizing. He takes note but forces himself to not think of them just yet. Instead he imagines what it would be like to step up behind her, cage her against the railing and breathe in her perfume as they watch the skyline glinting below them.)

“Thank you,” she replies.

Bellamy feels something cinch in his chest as she fleetingly buries her smile into her shoulder before stepping away from the railing. Hot, beautiful, and adorable. That’s a deadly combination.

He offers her a champagne glass and steps up to the railing. It’s a far nicer view from here than his apartment six floors below but this city at night is beautiful no matter from where one looks at it. Not as beautiful as the woman standing next to him though.

“So, Emori, huh?”

The scotch must already be having an effect. He masks his wicked smile by taking a sip of champagne and glances out the corner of his eye.

“Unfortunately, not my type,” she replies with a click of her tongue.

Bellamy turns his head to glance towards her then, watching her take a sip. She’s just as striking from this angle as the others. (He really wants to see all angles.)

“What is your type?” he asks. It’s casual enough that he doesn’t dwell on it. Then again, he’s had enough alcohol to quell some of his anxiety. The fact that she’s eager to be with him like this is, admittedly, the biggest boost in confidence.

(It’s not like he’s bad at this. It’s just he now worries about endings before things even begin. He knows Gina didn’t leave him _because_ of him—he’s had years to work on that, but that doesn’t mean he’s not wondered whether she’d have stayed if he were different, somehow.)

“I don’t really have one,” she replies. Tilting her head, she glances towards him, gaze dipping to his lips. (Bellamy’s been uncertain of his chances up until now, but he _can_ read people.)

“I know your type,” he tells her, sounding awfully impassive.

Another swig of champagne as he looks over at the skyline. He can feel her eyes on him; he enjoys it.

“Please, do tell,” she humours him, also glancing back towards the view. It’s Bellamy’s turn to look at her, like some foreplay tennis with smouldering looks rather than a gaudy yellow ball. Which… immediately detracts his train of thought.

“Where are the kids?”

Babbage and Barney haven’t been seen all night.

Echo continues to look out at the city as she shrugs, “With Anya.”

“Anya?”

“My colleague. We own the shop together.”

“ _Together_  together?”

At this, she turns towards him, leaning against the railing.

“What do you think?”

“How would I know?”

“You said you did,” she retorts, taking a sip of champagne.

Fuck. How did he back himself into this corner?

“I, uh—”

Bellamy’s back at the same crossroads from earlier, without a clue on where to lead this conversation.

“Everyone!” Roan taps on his glass just as the music is turned down. “I’d like to make a toast,” he continues, still tapping his glass as the crowd begins to quiet.

“Saved by the bell.”

Echo takes advantage of his distraction to nip at his jawline. He realises then, aflame and relieved, that he’s not the one leading at all. All he has to do, is follow.


	3. The Beginning (Reprise)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “ _Every ending is a new beginning._ ”

There’s something mesmerising about the way her finger dances across his skin. Bellamy watches the rise and fall of his abdomen and feels the pleasant tickle of her doodling fingertip. He knows that if she keeps that up, he’ll soon be willing her hand to disappear beneath the covers. Already he can feel himself stirring, undeterred. (He’d thought that at thirty he’d begin having extended refractory periods, but he’s simply been settling for lukewarm partners.)

Echo glances up at him, and he _feels_ the jolt as more blood reroutes south. Smiling at her, he leans down to chase the ghost of his earlier orgasm from her lips. He kisses the corner of her mouth and then licks into it, shifting the arm he’s loosely draped over her shoulders to draw her near. It’s deliciously sinful the way she sits a little taller against him. He hums, delighted, and drags his fingernails across her scalp. The kiss deepens, and he’s content to retrace the dips of her mouth for the rest of the day, though she has other plans for him. When her hand flattens against his abdomen and slowly trails southwards, he breaks away long enough to fill his lungs.

The sheets bunch over her wrist as she takes him in hand. Glancing down, Echo licks her swollen lips and strokes him to fullness. As a teenager he thought hand jobs were pointless, but he’s thankfully changed his mind since. Shuddering, he watches her watch him harden in her palm. She’s strikingly beautiful regardless of what state she is in. Deadly so when her lips are parted at the sight of him.

When Echo pulls away from him, he knows better than to complain. His silence is rewarded by her legs straddling his lap. He rakes both hands through her hair as she focuses on bridging the distance between them. She only looks up at him once he’s deeply seated. His fingernails dig into her scalp as his head falls back, hips stuttering under her weight.

“Look at me,” she beckons, grasping both of his forearms.

Last night, when Bellamy realised it was better to follow than lead them to a dead end, he gracefully accepted submission. Eager to please, he lifts his head and peers at her from beneath heavy lids.

He traces the sides of her neck with both hads, trails the line of her shoulders, and ghosts his fingertips over her chest. Or at least, he thinks he does. He can no longer tell if she is guiding his hand or simply hitching a ride. Before he can determine this, her hands slide up the length of his arms, her fingers splaying over his shoulders. It’s a practical move, the leverage necessary when she begins to move. For the moment, he continues to explore the lines and dips of her body, only fastening his hands about her hips when she quickens her pace.

(Bellamy will soon learn that with her in the saddle it’s a lot more like the hill setting on an exercise bike. She doesn’t work him to a single peak, no. Instead, she increases the resistance within him, then allows the tether to loosen as she slows, then quickens her pace once more and causes his insides to tighten. It’s torture, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.)

If John Murphy ruined coffee for him, then Echo’s ruined orgasms.

At least there exist alternatives for coffee.

(In response to this, Bellamy makes sure to punish her with bruising nips to her throat, collarbone, shoulder, chest… anywhere he can sink his teeth and anchor himself. The long red streaks of his fingers will disappear in due time, and so he imprints moon crescents into her skin, making sure she’ll remember him long after he’s washed her scent from his sheets.)

**~*~**

Octavia loses the bet in regard to Bellamy’s conquest. (Honestly, he’s not too broken up about it. Everyone who betted in the first place is forced to pay _him_. He uses the money to take Echo out on their first date.) One would think losing is enough to keep her from participating in the next big betting pool, but she throws herself in. This time she wins, much to Bellamy’s displeasure.

Harper gives birth to a boy.

Echo dresses in pink anyway, offering the new mother a kiss on each cheek and a box of chocolates filled with liquor. When Echo pulls away, Harper’s eyes widen.

“Fucking hell, Bellamy. You dog,” she admonishes, pointedly eyeing the hickeys.

Not too long after _that_ unnecessary call to attention, in a hospital corridor that smells of disinfectant and reheated chowder, Roan makes the first threat. They share a tense silence before Bellamy shakes his head and says, “Relax, man. I get it. I’m a big brother too.”

(Two days later he corners Niylah in the kitchen and parrots Roan’s threat, minus the crushing bicep grip and dangerously gravelly tone.)

**~*~**

Summer break means one lecture a week—blessedly on Wednesdays with office hours right after—and three days at _Thick As_ working on his book. He learns Echo shares his dietary restrictions, meaning two soy flat whites—a simple order that passes anywhere.

(John eventually gives him a list of places around town that sell good coffee and goes as far as giving him a bag of freshly ground beans every Monday as a token for Bellamy’s continued patronage. _Just write your book’s dedication to me_ , he says cheekily.)

Echo works five days a week, taking Fridays off to hike in the surrounding mountains. He joins her on those hikes early on into their relationship, and is surprised to learn that Babbage and Barney have been her constant companions all these years. They swim in the lake, dip their toes into ponds (and get soaked by the splashing dogs), kiss under the creaking canopy, and eat home-made veggie sandwiches while sitting cross-legged on big rocks.

(He learns that she prefers her crusts cut off, which he teases her about to no end and yet always diligently prepares. In high school she was a vegetarian, but a bout of anaemia forced her back onto a meat diet. The only reason they _don’t_ bring meat sandwiches is because Babbage and Barney have taught them, more than once, that they cannot be trusted with the icebox in the backseat. On the plus side, Echo’s extensive foray into vegetarianism means the sandwiches are never boring.)

Bellamy realises one day that he’s in love. He won’t tell her yet, not explicitly, but he shows her time and time again. It’s in: the way he holds her hair back when she’s sick during Raven and Roan’s wedding; the effort he puts into cutting off her crusts rather than buying crust-free toast; the gentle sweep of his hand across her back when he walks past her; the unyielding wrap of his arms when she tells him about her past ( _it really is a sad story, after all_ ); the brush of his lips against her forehead when he reaches past her to turn off the bedside lamp; the crush of his mouth against hers when they fuck. Until one day they’re sitting by a bonfire on November 28th, surrounded by their friends, and he pulls her close after realising he’s overlooked November 9th this year.  
  
It’s Thanksgiving and he presses his nose into her ridiculous beanie (a matching set to Octavia’s, he notices fondly) and confesses his love.

“I know,” she replies, turning towards him and nipping at his lower lip. She tastes like pumpkin pie (courtesy of Bryan) and scorched s’mores (courtesy of Emori) and whiskey-infused hot apple cider (courtesy of Roan).

(Who would have thought he’d be Leia in all this?)

It’ll take three months after that chilly Thanksgiving afternoon for her to confess.  
  
(He returns from New York after meeting with his editor, and she rushes into his arms as soon as he clears the doors. It’s _almost_ drowned by the _I missed you_ s and dozen quick kisses she plants across his face.)

**~*~**

It’s in the days preceding their second Halloween together that Bellamy will learn, stunned by the suddenness of it, how they first met.

“I’d forgotten all about it,” he admits, dropping onto the couch’s armrest. His shoulders sag, gaze vacant. From behind the kitchen counter, Harper hands baby Jordan off to Bryan and gives Nathan a knowing look. (There’s a ring tucked in the second drawer of his night-table that Bellamy and Monty helped pick, but it’s been there since _August_.)

“I remember very little of that party,” Harper says, picking up her glass of white wine.

“Pretty sure that’s the night Jordan was conceived,” Monty chimes in, unperturbed in his finger counting when Harper settles into his lap. “Yeah, sounds about right.”

“That’s the night John got arrested for streaking,” Emori reveals.

Nathan’s eyes widened, “That explains the footage.”

“What footage?” Bryan asks. It’s hard to sound accusatory while he’s cradling the back of Jordan’s head and bouncing him on his hip.

Bellamy filters out the conversation, looking across the room towards Echo. He finds her seated in Lexa’s lap, with her own legs bowed out around Octavia. The three girls are partaking in some braiding ritual, though the other two participants are clearly not interested. Anya’s slumped against Lexa’s back, already feeling the effects of too many tequila shots. Niylah’s resting her head on Octavia’s lap, playing with her phone while sipping punch out of a straw. It’s like looking at a modernised Renaissance painting. He doesn’t want to interrupt, and focuses instead on the friendship between his girlfriend and sister.

Later, when Echo gets up with what looks more like macramé than braids in her hair, he pulls her aside and seeks clarification.

“Did I really fall asleep?”

“Mm,” she’ll respond, pressing her lips to the corner of his mouth.

Bellamy strokes the side of her face, eyeing the mess that Lexa’s made of her hair. At least there are no paper umbrellas or straws stuck in it, he thinks, trying to find a silver lining.

(One silver lining will be Echo curled at his feet, head tucked onto her folded arms across his lap as he sits on the couch and half-watches the hockey match while easing the knots from her hair. The other silver lining will be Roan’s fond smile from the opposite armchair.)

“Echo,” he admonishes, cupping her cheeks. He loves her in all of her states, including when pliant and tipsy, but she’s followed too closely in Anya’s earlier footsteps and is _drunk_.

“Yes. I had seven minutes in Heaven with you and you. You, you dickhead, _fell asleep on me_ , but—”

Her arms wrap around his waist, fingers loosely gripping the back of his shirt. Bellamy nuzzles the side of her head as she presses her forehead to his shoulder.

“But?” he coaxes.

“But I got you in the end. So I win, _ha_!” she slurs into his shoulder.

Cradling the back of her head, Bellamy lifts his gaze to the ceiling. It’s plain and white, devoid of any frescos painted by masters of the renaissance. The only Italian thing in the room is Roan’s fancy coffee maker (which John has taught everyone how to use… _properly_.) He casts a thought to Gina, over there across the United States and Atlantic and Mediterranean, and he realises, with a fond smile, that he’s thankful she left him.

The life he wanted was never over there - it’s here.

It’s _this_ , with a dog nudging the back of his knee and his drunken girlfriend breathing hotly on his neck. It’s right _here_ , surrounded by all his friends and family.

In a cruel twist of fate, it’s Echo who falls asleep on him. It’s just as well Nathan’s kept pushing him on Sunday mornings, else he’d not have the strength necessary to withstand the sudden slump of her body into his.


End file.
